


Soliloquy

by Shadow_Chaser



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: BAMF!Defenders, Episode: s01e07 Fish in the Jailhouse, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fix-It, Fixing the last 2 episodes of the series, Gen, Should be rated M for swearing, Side(kick) character group therapy, Smarter villains, The Hand's plans for NYC is fleshed out, This got a little Daredevil/Matt Murdock-centric, When The Hand are involved there are no innocents, everyone gets hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser
Summary: In one path, the Hand waited for their enemies to come to them.  This is not that story.  The Defenders realize that The Hand's plans for NYC are far more sinister than anticipated as the Hand decide that the best way to deal with the four heroes is to attack them first.  (Fix-it fic for the latter half of the “Defenders” series.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this because for all their talk, The Hand's actions in previous series as well as their reputation seem to be off the rails OOC in “The Defenders.” To put it simply – the villain's plot bothered me the most (don't get me started on Danny Rand/Iron Fist).
> 
> One more note, this series will end like how “Defenders” ended – with Daredevil presumed dead and the building toppling (not necessarily in that order or any other order), but whether or not the leaders of The Hand die or our heroes and sidekicks survive is another question.

Silence fell across the room in wake of the Black Sky's passage. There was no doubt that the three knew where she was going. Either to clean her blades or to ensure that the Iron Fist did not escape their custody once more. Murakami suspected both if she was anything but a dedicated warrior like himself. He pursed his lips and stared at the pool of blood and trail that used to be Alexandra's. He had not been surprised that Alexandra had died. What surprised him was that Elektra had _known_ to ensure that Alexandra stayed dead by chopping her head off. He had originally thought her as nothing more than an animal and she had proven how cunning she was. However, Gao had a point – they had operated in the shadows and secrecy as well as alliance and money were their allies. With Alexandra's death, they could not readily explain away her sudden disappearance.

“You are thinking, my old friend,” Gao suddenly spoke up in wake of the silence and Murakami looked at her.

He did not need to extend his heightened senses out to know that she was staring at him with her snake-like eyes, more than likely evaluating him as she had done all of the lifetimes he had known her. Of all of the fingers of The Hand, he had long considered Gao the most dangerous. Alexandra was dangerous – she had initiated the most assassination attempts on him – but Gao was the most dangerous. She was the only one of the five of them to blatantly consider removing Alexandra from power and did so with a boldness that belied her insipid and treacherous nature.

“ _I am always thinking_ ,” he replied in Japanese. He had no reason to speak the language of commerce, English, among the three of them that remained. He could speak it, he just chose not to because it was not necessary. He still did not understand why Gao did it when her own Cantonese was perfectly understandable to him and to Bakuto.

“But not to dispose our new...leader,” Gao tilted her head in a different way and Murakami felt Bakuto shift.

He could almost imagine the other man's smile – one that never reached his eyes – a pleasant congenial one that his followers always adored and made them feel a sense of belonging in return. He had deliberately turned his back on Bakuto, but knew that the other man would not strike at the moment. It was he who had fished Bakuto to safety and revived him as he had been the closest to where the warrior had fallen. Bakuto had said nothing, but Murakami knew that Bakuto was currently feeling a bit grateful for his revival. And so he knew that the good will would last for a little longer, if not for the next few days. It usually took about a month or so for the good feeling to vanish from Bakuto. Then he would have to watch his back.

“She is the one who was able to capture the Iron Fist-” Gao started.

“ _Your point?_ ” he raised an eyebrow at Gao.

“We should at least consider her plans-”

“ _You are a snake Gao_ ,” Murakami interrupted with a look at the relatively old woman. “ _And you do not easily submit. I know for a fact that you are already making your own plans, your own contingencies should the Black Sky fail in her mission or even allow the Iron Fist to escape_.”

Gao said nothing.

“Perhaps we should consider her plan at the moment. If and when she does get the Iron Fist to open the door, and we receive the substance to prolong our lives, she has certainly outlived her usefulness,” Bakuto spoke up, his voice calm, pleasant, always making promises.

“ _I will kill her myself_ ,” Murakami glanced at Bakuto as he moved from behind him to join their conversation.

“I have no doubt about that friend,” Bakuto knew better than to place a hand on his shoulder in a friendly gesture. “But let us consider alternatives at the moment.”

“ _Alternatives_ ,” he stated flatly.

“The Black Sky may wish to operate in the open, but since we are leaderless,” Bakuto gestured to the pool of blood that had been Alexandra's. He flashed an affable smile, “it may be the best time to discuss what we can do to mitigate this light that has now shined upon us. We know that the Unyielding Woman, the Man With the Unbreakable Skin, and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen are all after us as we have shown them our faces.

“Murakami, your subordinate Nobu, he was able to nearly beat the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, was he not?” Bakuto asked.

“ _He was an idiot for allowing his own desires to compromise his mission of obtaining the Black Sky_ ,” Murakami replied. He had been disappointed, severely disappointed in his apprentice. He had given life back to his subordinate with the promise that it would be his last unless he had finished what he had been tasked to do to what was now Midland Circle.

In the aftermath of the debacle with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the Black Sky, he had found his apprentice's severed head. Nobu had served him for a very long time and one would have thought that there was some affection, some kind of reciprocal respect, but all Murakami had felt was an empty disappointment.

“Yes, but you must admit, his skill in luring the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the Black Sky to him was incredible,” Bakuto clasped his hands together, “perhaps there is a lesson in that.”

“Working from the shadows,” Gao spoke up, her voice measured and calm.

“No, my dear Madame,” Bakuto bowed his head a little, “we strike first. As we had always. We do not need to wait for these three who have dedicated themselves to their companion the Iron Fist. We can strike first and thus, leave them with nothing but the ashes of their defeat. We know that they will come for the Iron Fist, but we, pardon, I also know that they have taken it upon themselves to try to protect the ones they love.”

“ _How?_ ” Murakami was intrigued.

“I was accused of not obtaining the Iron Fist when I paid a visit to Colleen,” Bakuto smiled.

“ _So you do admit that you were not there for the Iron Fist_ ,” Murakami could feel the cold annoyance roll off of him. Bakuto was foolish as ever to think that he could bring back an apprentice who had clearly renounce her ways to The Hand itself.

“Yes,” the other man did not even seemed bothered by the accusation. “Like I said, perhaps we should strike at their loved ones. That way, we do not have the distraction that they may provide by going after the Iron Fist.”

“They will be protected now,” Gao cautioned, “perhaps even by the police.”

“Yes, they will,” the other man replied, “but it is nothing we have not faced before, my dear Madame.”

“This will spend a lot of our resources-”

“ _Resources we can easily cultivate when we have the substance again_ ,” Murakami nodded in agreement to the idea. He liked being pro-active, being able to stalk and hunt his prey in the lair instead of letting it think that it was hunting him. He looked at Gao who had pursed her lips, clearly unhappy with his agreement to Bakuto's suggestion.

“Very well,” Gao finally tilted her head in agreement, “what do you suggest?”

“ _Nobu's subordinates are my own_ ,” Murakami replied, “ _Tyler-san will handle the arrangements_.” The red-headed _gaijin_ woman had her uses, but he did not doubt her loyalty to Nobu or to The Hand itself. He had released her from her prison sentence only a few months after Nobu's death and the woman had pledged herself to him. It was she who had also explained Nobu's plans to him, allowing him to figure out how it had gone awry.

“Divide and conquer, my friend? My, I thought you were a lone wolf,” Bakuto turned his smile towards him and Murakami only stared at him.

“ _Sowande's subordinates are loyal to you_ ,” he stated and Bakuto nodded.

“The man and I share many similar tastes,” Bakuto shrugged and Murakami only huffed a breath of annoyance. He knew that it was not the only thing that the two had shared over the hundreds of lifetimes and years that they had been alive. Bakuto lusted and killed those he favored and disliked with a passion that was only rivaled by Sowande. The black man had a gift and way with words – and guns – that seemed tempered by the sword that Bakuto wielded.

“I will see to the arrangements here then,” Gao tilted her head at them. An unspoken understanding pass through the three of them. Of all of them, Gao had the power to potentially take down the Black Sky. And if the idiot Iron Fist had any sense, he would ally himself with Gao to take down the Black Sky before the two would then finish each other off.

“ _Dispose of her as soon as the Iron Fist opens the door_ ,” Murakami called to Gao as they made to leave.

“Come my friend, let us enjoy this solitary hunt,” Bakuto clapped his hand on Murakami's shoulder and just this once, he allowed the affable man to do so. It would be the first and last time he would allow someone to touch him like that.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The red-haired woman named Tyler was certainly pretty, but her narrow and cold eyes gave away the true nature of her soul, Bakuto decided. He folded his arms across his chest, staring at the wall of hard-light computer monitors that was in one of Murakami's many penthouse suites. The hard-light monitors were not holographic, but the concept was similar. This particular one was a technology hub, built and reinforced in the Yakatomi Building that housed Asano's main servers. It had been breached a year and a half ago by the Black Sky in her previous life, but after that whole thing had been dealt with, Murakami had taken over the operations and using the resources at his disposal, had reinforced and rebuilt the Asano servers. The Japanese man was a mystery to Bakuto, even after all of the years he had lived. Murakami always insisted that he work alone, that the challenge of a fight preferred his solo outings, but here he was, watching Tyler carefully as she effortlessly used her skills to get the information they wanted.

Bakuto had learned that Tyler was not a hacker, but she was very good at spotting threads and piecing together information. The Hand already had access to the latest technologies and were even on the cutting edges, their ventures extending into corporations such as Roxxon, AIM, even Hammer Tech. The only one that they had not been able to successfully infiltrate was Stark Industries, but it was of no consequence at this point. In fact, Bakuto had vocally preferred that they not infiltrate S.I. because of both their CEO Pepper Potts, and of whom owned the company – Tony Stark. There was no need to bring down the wrath of Iron Man or his Avengers to their shadowy dealings – even with the Sokovia Accords that had been passed.

He flicked his eyes back to Murakami. For a man who preferred solitude, he was very adept at leading a group of people and working with underlings. Bakuto did not know how Murakami was able to gather followers like he or Gao did, but neither was he inclined to ask. Murakami was the only one who was not from K'un-L'un and was pure Japanese. It was why he was also the one that all of them were wary and watchful about – more than each other. Bakuto knew Murakami's misgivings the first time that they had proposed to become The Hand. The Japanese man wanted to stay, wanted to use what he had learned in K'un-L'un for good.

But something had changed the man, something that he refused to talk about. Even Nobu, when the man was alive, had refused to say anything. Nobu was clearly Murakami's subordinate and trusted adviser. Bakuto's own romantic notions thought that there could have been perhaps something between the two, especially since Nobu had been taken on as a late apprentice of sorts hundreds of years after they had left K'un-L'un, but it had just been that – a romantic notion. Perhaps it had been some leftover samurai feudalism combined with his own notions that made him see such things, but Bakuto did not deny that Nobu's death had some effect on Murakami.

“ _Cell phone pings from the towers show that most of those who had been saved by Daredevil are in their homes_ ,” Tyler spoke up and Bakuto looked at her. Her Japanese still had an accent of sorts, but it was not as noticeable as when he had met her fifty years ago. “ _There are two others that are not in the residential buildings. One is located in the section of Manhattan Island called Harlem, another, in a building we know as a precinct_.”

“ _Who are they?_ ”

Tyler typed in a few commands and two pictures appeared on the screen. Bakuto hummed a little in appreciation at the picture of one of the two. “ _Turk Barrett is located in Harlem. He had a criminal record and his movements were tracked by the police the last time we had picked him up. The woman is Karen Page. Her current employment is-_ ” Tyler typed the woman's name into a search function and several hits came back, all articles, “ _working as a reporter for The New York Bulletin._ ”

“Reporters do burn both end of the candles,” Bakuto commented, bringing Murakami's sharp-eyed gaze on him. He only smiled blandly in return and his compatriot looked away.

“ _Send some of your men to the residential buildings_ ,” Murakami ordered, “ _but do not capture them_.”

“Clever,” Bakuto acknowledged with a nod before he reached for his cellphone and typed out a few commands to his men. He understood what the Japanese man wanted to do – as well as the consequences. There was no need to capture and gather those that The Devil of Hell's Kitchen had saved – it was far more effective to threaten them with perhaps a sniper's bullet or a garrote to the throat. If the Devil of Hell's Kitchen valued them, he would have to choose to save one family versus another. Lumping the potential victims together gave the advantage to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. A buzzing beep from his phone told him that his order was acknowledged and his teams would be on their way.

Sowande's men had some of the best snipers, their former comrade a skillful gun-runner and sniper himself. It had been a pity that Sowande himself had died. Bakuto had rather liked his conversations with the other man, even when they had attempted to kill each other numerous times. The ones he found to be the most enlightening usually involved their mutual deaths or the death of one another from time to time. There had been something exciting and he would freely acknowledge, arousing, when he sunk his blade into Sowande or when Sowande scored an extremely well-placed shot in his own body. The black man's – he would never call Sowande African as Sowande was as K'un-L'unan as he was – death had been like a keen blade in his own heart.

And it had also galvanized Sowande's men to rally behind him, to pledge their allegiance to him as they all had known of their history together. They all knew that of all of the leaders of The Hand, the one who would more than likely get revenge for the death of Sowande was Bakuto.

“So what now, my friend?” he asked Murakami who was absently rubbing his lip. He looked like a predator with his dark eyes, freely putting out the bait in anticipation for a hunt.

“ _Do you know who was the woman that you saw with the Man With Unbreakable Skin?_ ” Murakami asked and Bakuto shook his head.

“Alas, I do not know,” he replied, “she had extremely beautiful skin though, a light chocolate cream.” He smiled wistfully and could feel the annoyance roll off of the Japanese man's demeanor. He recognized her from the last time he had fought Colleen and the Iron Fist. She had been there with them, and the fact that she also knew the Man With Unbreakable Skin made him wonder if there was something more to the beautiful woman than previously thought.

“ _Find his former apprentice's phone_ ,” Murakami snapped to Tyler while giving Bakuto a look of annoyed loathing. Tyler dutifully obeyed.

The results pinged on the hard-light screen a few minutes later and Bakuto tilted his head in surprise. That was not what he expected.

“Interesting,” he commented.

Murakami's expression betrayed nothing of what he felt, but Bakuto could literally see the unbridled joy in the Japanese man's eyes. He was clearly pleased at the results and that his prey was entrapped.

Colleen's phone pinged in the same building as the one for Karen Page. It did not take much for Bakuto to piece together that of all of the ones Daredevil saved, Karen Page meant a lot more to the skillful fighter than anyone else. He had already long known that Colleen was devoted to the Iron Fist and so her presence at the police station was laughably easy to decipher. It seemed that the four knew of the reputation that their organization had and so had gathered their most beloved into one singular place. A police station was the most secure place, but it was so much like leading a lamb to slaughter. Bakuto was willing to bet his many lives that the beloved ones of The Unyielding Woman and The Man With Unbreakable Skin – especially the beautiful woman – were also at the precinct. Perhaps there were others there too, those that meant the most to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the Iron Fist. It would make killing them that much sweeter.

It would make breaking their resolve so pleasurable.

“Shall we, my friend?” he gestured to Murakami who nodded once.

“ _Tyler-san, inform Gao of the situation._ ”

“ _As you wish, Murakami-sama_ ,” she replied.

* * *

Matt was at a loss, wracking his brain for every single legal loophole he could think of to try to get the three of them out of the police precinct without making them look utterly guilty. Every single scenario he kept replaying in his head made it almost impossible for him to completely disguise himself as Daredevil and that was what worried him the most, second to Danny's capture. He heard the sure footsteps of Foggy before the knock came at the door.

“Jesus can you just give us a minute-”

“No wait, wait, it's not the cops,” he held up his hand to forestall anything Jessica was about to say as he walked over to the door and opened it.

“Hey, sorry can I borrow you?” Foggy's voice had an undercurrent of worry, but also of an assurance that made Matt puzzled.

“Not right now-”

“Yes,” Matt had never heard such insistence from his friend, “yes, right now.”

Matt resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his best friend's insistence, but complied. He turned back to Luke and Jessica, “Just...give us a minute.”

He could feel their annoyance by the shift of their postures, but they nodded their assent, clear that they too were trying to think of a way out of this mess. Matt closed the door gently behind him as he turned to face Foggy.

“I need you to hear me out,” Foggy started, but Matt cut him off.

“Could you please make this fast?” he put some edge into his tone. If Foggy was going to ream him out about putting on the suit again like Karen had-

“I don't think you understand the gravity of your current situation. Your real life, and your other life, are two trains-”

“I know-”

“-dangerously close to colliding right now,” Foggy finished and Matt grimaced. He could feel the annoyance with his friend growing and it took him some effort to keep his tone polite. He and Foggy were still at an impasse of sorts after the fallout of the Punisher case, his abandonment of the firm, the whole mess with Elektra. Granted, his best friend had given him some of his case load to work on and tried to help, Matt was not feeling exactly generous at the moment – not with everything that had been happening.

“I am well aware,” he replied tightly.

“Did you hear what that cop said? If you're ever investigated, you'll lose everything. They re-open every case; matter of fact, I come down with you, we both get disbarred.”

“Yeah, well, I'm sorry. I can't do this right now, the entire city is in danger-”

“I know. And I'm not dumb enough to think that I can try and stop you. I'm here because I'm trying to help you keep your two lives separate. So that they don't lump you in with Mr. Bulletproof and Super Joan Jett in there. You understand?”

Matt blinked, a little surprised at Foggy's declaration. “Yeah, I do.”

Foggy's exhale told Matt that his best friend was relieved before he could hear Foggy's lips thin into a grim line. “Okay. Good. 'Cause the people in this building need to always, and only, see you as a lawyer.”

“I know...” he wanted to bring in Foggy to figure out how to get himself out of this mess, but Jessica and Colleen were right – the more people knew, the more would get hurt. Detective Knight's insistence that she and the police be brought in to take over the Hand case put an unnecessary pressure on them. He was glad that at least one of his friends on the force, Detective Brett Mahoney was on vacation with his mother – somewhere out of the city itself.

Matt's world shifted as he sensed Foggy thrust whatever had been in his hand out towards him. He could smell the canvas, the stale smell of sweat – his own mingled with others – and hear the rustle of fabric. It was his usual workout bag that he took to Fogwell's Gym whenever he had excess energy he needed to bleed out that he could not work out as Daredevil. Fogwell's had received nightly visits since he had stopped being Daredevil. He could also hear something with some weight in the canvas bag.

“What is this?” Matt took the bag, wondering why Foggy had his workout bag.

“I still have the key to your place so I brought a change of your clothes,” Foggy shrugged, Matt could see the ripple of movement in the air currents of his world.

He tilted his head a little, puzzled. “Okay, thank you.”

“Any time,” Foggy reached over for a hug and Matt reciprocated, feeling a little less anxious but still guilty for disappointing his friend. However, unlike Karen to whom he had felt rather guilty for breaking his promise to her – he knew that Foggy understood his...addiction if there was a better word for it. He did not fault Karen for her thinking, but he had hoped that his curt words to her, that being Daredevil, it was his way of life. At least Foggy seemed to understand a little better – especially considering the circumstances. It was Foggy's next words that washed the guilt away from Matt. “That's what family's for.”

He patted Foggy on the back before they released each other and Foggy left, as if his visit was of no consequence. Matt waited until his friend rounded the corner before he hefted the bag a little, trying to sense what was in it. It certainly did not feel like a change of clothing. The bag was heavier and he heard the distinct clink of metal on something-

Matt opened the zipper a little and finally got a picture of what was in the bag. His world bloomed into the familiar curves, angles, and taste of protective leathers, kevlar, and body armor that filtered out from the bag. Foggy had definitely brought him a change of clothes – his Daredevil armor. He could feel the touched astonishment rush through him at how well Foggy knew him – and knew that he could never not be Daredevil. Unlike Karen's attempts Foggy knew that he could never fully stop him from being Daredevil if he did not want to be, but in this case, Foggy knew well enough that he would not cry wolf unless there was a serious danger.

He pulled the zipper back up and opened the door back up to one of the many small waiting rooms that was in the precinct. Foggy's delivery of his body armor gave him an idea. He sensed both Luke and Jessica look up at him, wondering what Foggy wanted and opened his mouth to explain his plan, but never got the words out as he heard the pop and fizzle of the lights flickering before the fizzle died – the lights had gone out.

That was when the first scream rendered the air.

* * *

Elektra peered over the edge of the hole that the Iron Fist had created. The young man, no, _boy_ , had landed on his back, sprawled among the bones of the ancient dragons that once roamed the Earth. He looked unconscious. She glanced back as she heard the elevator descend and stop before the old crone who called herself Madame Gao walked in with her slow, deliberate gait. There were several of her men accompanying her. Elektra stood on guard as she gestured for the men to come towards her.

“Subdue the Iron Fist,” she ordered, pointing down to the hole, “do not kill him. He may be of use to us-”

“We have what we need, Black Sky,” Gao stood near her, and stared up, one withered eyebrow raised.

“Yes, and if you are truly sure that this is the last cache of the substance-”

Gao nodded sagely before acceding to her request, “As you wish, Black Sky. Your wisdom belies your words.”

“Don't patronize me Gao,” she glared at the old woman.

She could feel her own blood sing, wanting nothing more than to cut the woman who stood next to her into pieces. Fighting the Iron Fist had been exhilarating, and the sweet cloying scent of the battle still ran through her veins. As much as she had wanted to kill the Iron Fist, she knew that keeping him alive – for the moment – was the best thing. He was the perfect lure to draw in his friends. It would not only be for their expressions of dismay when she eventually slit the Iron Fist's throat, but also because she knew it would drive Matthew, her beloved Matthew, to the darkest edges – perhaps even push him over it. He would finally release his potential; something she could have never done while she had only been Elektra Natchios. As the Black Sky, she would be able to help unlock Matthew's potential and he would be the greatest fighter that anyone had seen.

Gao waved a quick hand at her servants and they descended into the pit of dragon bones to retrieve the Iron Fist before he awoke. “I will have the excavators start immediately,” the old woman said, “Bakuto and Murakami have both-”

“You came down here to kill me, did you not, Madame Gao?” Elektra spoke up, staring at the old woman who had made to turn away.

She paused and turned back around, resting both hands on her rickety cane. Elektra knew better. She could taste the metal in the cane and knew that Gao was constantly armed. She could feel the longevity of life and of a power that was hidden within the wizened old woman. Gao was clever, and the fact that she was down here right at the moment that the Iron Fist broke through the barrier was no coincidence.

“Yes, my child,” Gao did not bother to hide a denial in the congenial smile she gave her. “We thought you to be reckless with your words and careless in discarding The Hand. This is not our first coup.”

Elektra looked at her sais for a moment, wondering if she could easily plunge it into Gao's chest as she had Alexandra's. There had been nothing special in terms of hidden power and strength in Alexandra. But she had learned in the days and months since she had been revived that Alexandra's strength was not in her body, but rather had been her words and her mind. If Alexandra was considered the thumb, the finger which directed all others to curl or to release, then Gao was most definitely the ring finger. Considered the weakest, but in reality one of the strongest that was hidden and worked in concert with the other fingers of a hand.

She would not be able to kill Gao that easily.

“I told you I did not care about The Hand,” she stared at Gao, “your plans, however long cultivated, are not my concern. I just want the substance. I want to live, forever.”

“Yes, but you know you must keep us around in order to turn these dragon bones into the substance. You must keep us around to learn how to prepare it,” Gao spoke plainly, “which is why I am not killing you. There is some honor in the death you had dealt Alexandra. I feel obligated to honor that.”

Elektra narrowed her eyes. She had been warned about Gao by Alexandra. The older woman struck like a viper and wove her poisons and web like a spider. However, Elektra was not stupid. She could sense something in this confrontation, something that screamed at her blood lust to be cautious. “Alexandra mentioned that you had staged many coups against her.”

“Yes, I was her rival for the most part,” Gao shrugged, seemingly at ease with what she had done over the years. “But I was also her biggest supporter.”

“I am aware of that,” she stated. Alexandra trusted Gao to an extent and Gao trusted Alexandra to an extent. Her...mentor, or keeper as it was, spoke at length of Gao's strengths and weaknesses as much as she spoke about the others like Bakuto, Sowande, or even Murakami.

“I am willing to teach you how to refine the dragon bones for longevity-”

“And then we part ways,” Elektra cut in. There left no room for doubt of how they were to part ways. Once she learned, or once she managed to learn the secrets of how to refine the dragon bones into the life-everlasting substance, neither of them would be of use to each other. There was nothing to be said about _who_ would end up with the dragon bones that was harvested from here. Which is also why Elektra wished to keep the Iron Fist alive. The stupid boy would know if there were more caches. She did not trust The Hand fully to say this was the last of the substance in New York City. Gao and the others said that they wished to return to K'un-L'un which meant that the city in which she had ruthlessly killed the monks had not been completely destroyed. The Iron Fist would know where the city went and in the city she would be able to find out where she could find more dragon bones.

“Then we are in agreement,” Gao tilted her head in acknowledgment.

She only gave Gao a crooked smile as her men started to haul up the Iron Fist's body. They were none too gentle with it, knocking his head and limbs on the outcroppings, but Elektra spared no sympathy. The boy was an absolute idiot and was clearly not mature enough to reign in his emotions when she had taunted him about the fate of his beloved city and her role in it. It had almost spoiled the atmosphere that created the fight, but it had also been necessary. She had judged him right, a talent of hers since she had been Elektra Natchios. It was one of her many gifts and though Stick had said it was a special gift – the same spiel he had given to Matthew about his gift – it was one of the few things that he had gotten correct. Now if only Matthew-

Elektra pushed the thought out of her mind as she sheathed her sais. She watched as Gao's men placed the Iron Fist on the upright metal bed and strap him back into it. “Where are the others?” she asked.

“A preemptive strike on the ones that the four love to prevent them from interfering with the harvest of the substance. We believe that they had been gathered together for their own safety,” Gao replied, “will you join them?”

She glanced over to the shorter woman and saw that there was no hint of malice nor of hidden agenda in her posture. Gao was truly asking out of genuine curiosity.

“Why not,” she could not keep the tremor of anticipation out of her voice, “there's always a good fight to be had.” If Murakami and Bakuto were striking at the others, it meant that there was a good chance Matthew's dearest friend Franklin Nelson was among the group. She knew she could easily leverage Nelson to bend Matthew to his darker side. If not, she could always eliminate the portly lawyer as she knew that Nelson had always been jealous of their relationship back in college. It was not of a lover's jealousy, but rather she was familiar with such jealousy – Nelson had counted himself as one of Matthew's only supports back in college, and to find that someone like her had stolen his heart away; that he could depend on someone else; well, it had rankled Nelson a little.

“You would do well to seek out Tyler, Nobu's former assistant, but now Murakami's. She is located at the Yakatomi building. She may know where the other two have gone,” Gao replied.

“What, no technology?”

“I do not care for the notion of cellular phones. Conversation passed as messages from others is so much more interesting as you can clearly see and hear to your advantage,” Gao folded her hand back onto her cane and Elektra resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If anything, the old woman was truly living up to her stereotype of being an old woman, shunning technology and all.

“I will start the process. Please let the other two know,” Gao stated and Elektra only snorted as she moved past the ancient being.

While it may have seemed true that Gao did not know where Murakami or Bakuto went, she had understood the deliberate dropping of the name of Murakami's assistant – or of this mysterious Tyler's connection to him. Gao wished to cause chaos in Murakami's ranks and she was the perfect instrument to do such a thing. Eliminating Tyler would be of no consequence and one Elektra would gladly relish. After all, Nobu had been the one to kill her. It stood to reason that she help repay the dead man's killing blow by dismantling his former network. If it left Murakami in a vulnerable position – all the more reason why he could be easily eliminated in the aftermath.

It still stood to truth that she did not care for The Hand.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“That's not good,” Claire found herself muttering as soon as the lights flickered and went out. A second later, the emergency lights came on and she stood up, looking around as various police personnel whispered and muttered to one another. She knew she should not be surprised, but she had almost half-expected some sort of panic. Instead, the police moved with quick efficiency, reminding her of her days at Metro-General when the Emergency Room became a hot-bed of gunshot and stab wounds after a gang-related fight.

She reached for her bag and found it by feel after a few seconds of grabbing empty air. However, she did not reach in for the metal objects inside it, tamping down on the sense of worry that had filled her. Maybe it was another minor earthquake, or maybe it was something else-

“Ow, my eyes,” she heard Malcolm Ducasse cry out as the bright LED light raked across his face.

“Sorry, Malcolm,” Karen Page winced a little as she dipped her phone's flashlight feature downwards to shine towards the ground.

Claire was not that familiar with Karen Page, but she had seen and heard the news about the blonde-haired woman's involvement with the Union Allied case – the one that had eventually led to Wilson Fisk's imprisonment. There had also been reports that Karen was involved with the Frank Castle fiasco, but she did not know in what capacity. She only knew Karen as a reporter for the _New York Bulletin_ and her presence here indicated that she was someone that Matt cared deeply about. She had been glad that Matt had at least two people in his life he had not pushed away after everything he went through for the last couple of years.

“Ugh, not this again,” Trish Walker spoke up to Claire's left and she ducked her head as the radio personality flipped on the flashlight on her phone. However, unlike Page's accidental raking of the area with the bright LED light, Walker immediately set hers down on the ground.

Claire had never met Trish or Malcolm, but she was glad that Jessica, like Matt, had at least two people she cared about enough to usher them to the police station and into protective custody. When she had left Jessica after making sure Luke was going to recover, the young woman seemed defeated, almost at odds with herself for what had happened to her. Claire did not know the full story, but it had something to do with some psychotic man who apparently could control minds and somehow, Jessica was immune and killed him. At least that was what she found out from Trish while talking with her.

The sudden blare and flashing of lights from the emergency intercoms made all of them wince and clap their hands to their ears at the piercing sound. She saw Captain Strieber in the office across from her waving his hands a bit before he pointed towards a couple of people and they hurried towards a different direction. Strieber held up his radio, but with the noise, Claire could not hear what the Captain was saying over it until the sound suddenly cut out, leaving only the blinking lights.

“Hey, where's Colleen?” Trish asked after a few seconds of blissful silence. The radio personality brought her flashlight up and around in a wide arc, moving fast enough for Claire to not have to wince at its obnoxious brightness, but slow enough for her to see that there was no sign of Colleen.

“I...didn't see her, but maybe she went to go find Luke for more answers?” Karen spoke up, hesitant.

“Luke said he didn't know what happened or where Danny was,” Claire pointed out. She had been really worried when she had examined Luke. He was bulletproof, but like she had told Colleen, his insides were very much human. Drugs and anything ingested made him as human as the rest of them. Whatever had gassed him, it had been potent and at first, she had been afraid that it was lethal.

She stood up, hefting her purse on her shoulder and wondered if she should go find Colleen. Her sensei had a tendency to go off on her own and fight her own battles even though she had told Colleen that she was Danny's anchor. With Danny missing, it was not a stretch to see the anchor unmoored and lost. She was about to leave when the dim form of Detective Knight strolled into the room. Two flashlights immediately pointed towards her and Claire saw Misty shield her eyes for a second.

“Turn those things off, please!” the Detective did not sound pleased.

“Oh, uh, sorry, Detective,” Karen and Trish both stuttered and the flashlights were shut off, plunging them back into a dim darkness. It took a moment for Claire's eyes to adjust to the emergency lights at the same time she heard popping sounds followed by a couple of sounds that sounded like screams.

“Oh...shit, is that-”

“Yeah,” Knight gave Trish a look that spoke volumes before gesturing towards them, “in the interest of keeping my promise to make sure you guys are safe and also because there is a bunch of homicidal lunatics storming this place, I'm getting all of you out of here.” She gestured for them to follow her before her face scrunched up in a puzzled expression. “Wait, where's the chick with the sword?”

Silence was her answer until it was broken not even a second later.

“ _Colleen_ ,” the name was strung out with a melody that sounded both incredibly sinister and familiar to Clarie's ears, “where are you?”

“Oh hell, no,” she muttered as she opened her purse and quickly pulled out the metal objects that she carried with her, day in and out. She managed to pull on and secure her _tekko-kagi_ , as the owner of the voice stepped out from the shadows. She flexed her fingers, the familiar weight and feel of her weapons a reassurance at the appearance of the last person that she really did not want to see. Claire dropped her purse to the ground and set herself in a ready stance that Colleen had taught her.

“Hold it right there asshole,” Knight had immediately turned around and pointed her gun as Bakuto emerged from the shadows of the darkened hallway that led to the rooms.

“Drop that sword and put your hands up!” Strieber shouted from across the hall and Claire caught a glimpse of the Captain also drawing his weapon and pointing at Bakuto who paused in between the two rooms. A smile that could have been called wistful appeared on his face as he raised his hands.

Claire resisted the urge to vomit as her stomach roiled. She had thought that she was immune to the sight of blood and gore, but there was so much red coating Bakuto's katana along with what looked like bits and pieces of entrails.

“Put the sword down,” Knight echoed, her voice hard and stern, “or I _will_ put you down.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Karen move closer to her as did Trish and Malcolm. Trish had her hands held up even though they shook like leaves, palms facing outward, as if she was ready to hold her hands up further for surrender. But that was when Claire noticed the set and posture of Trish's shoulders and legs. It was an opening stance. For what martial arts, she didn't know, but she was glad that at least someone else besides her knew how to fight.

“Stay behind me, Karen,” she muttered as she saw Bakuto look back and forth between Strieber and Knight, almost as if he was trying to decide who to skewer first. It was disconcerting as she was very familiar with what Bakuto had done to Colleen and Danny.

“Malcolm,” Trish hissed and Claire saw the young man nodded, fear evident on his face. Malcolm would stick close to Trish, that much was certain.

“Ah, Claire, is that you?” Bakuto sounded as if he had just spotted her when Claire knew that the man had long seen her; probably even before he had revealed himself.

“Hey, asshole, are you fucking deaf?!” Knight deliberately moved, placing herself in front of the line of vision that Claire had with Bakuto. The Detective flicked the safety off of her gun, “I said, put the sword down and-”

“Captain, you really should consider your own men and women here,” Bakuto turned his head and ignored Knight, “surrender Claire and the others, including Colleen from wherever she went, and no one else need to suffer.”

“Detective Knight?” Strieber's voice was calm and controlled.

“Sir,” Knight replied and Claire felt her stomach flutter in fear.

“I am ordering you,” Strieber's expression became pinched in the dim darkness of the precinct, “ _togethesepeopleout_ -”

“NO!” The scream dropped from Claire's lips as she suddenly saw Bakuto move and his blade flash for a second before it pierced the Captain in the chest. Time seemed to slow down as blood dripped from the corner of Strieber's lips as he stared numbly at the blade stuck in his heart. His hands fell limply to his side as his gun dropped with a loud thunk onto the ground.

Several screams echoed around Claire and she realized that she had screamed again when Detective Knight fired her gun at Bakuto. She saw the other man flinch, clearly hit, but he seemingly turned, almost unaffected by the bullet, his face an uncaring grin. She saw dark drip of blood down the front his chest. Bakuto moved so fast that all Claire saw was a flash of blade and the next bullet Knight fired was deflected into the ceiling. She ducked, moving quickly away as Knight was driven back, barely deflecting Bakuto's katana with her gun. Beyond him, Strieber collapsed to the ground, either dead or close to it, Claire couldn't tell as more dark figures rushed in. The room where Strieber had been filled with gunfire and screams, the ninjas and assassins that The Hand employed ruthlessly cutting down the rest of the police force that had been part of their defense.

Knight was suddenly kicked into the wall where Claire had been standing and slid to the ground, her eyes glassy and stunned. “Misty!” Claire shouted as she saw Bakuto advance into the room. The others, clearly an assortment of ninjas and gun-toting criminals that had come with the katana-wielding murderer were staying away from their room in particular. It seemed like an unspoken statement that Bakuto was going to kill them all.

“Who would like to die first-”

“Bakuto!” Colleen's war cry came at the same time Bakuto suddenly spun and brought his blade up in a block against the white-hilted katana that the young woman wielded.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Bakuto's smile was anything but pleasant, but it sounded like he had just made a simple conversation instead of showing any type of strain.

The guard was broken as Bakuto attacked and with the flick of too-fast wrists and flashing blades, Claire saw Colleen step backwards, her face a mask of determination and pain. Claire knew that the wound Colleen had received was hindering her movements and she made her decision just as Bakuto lashed out again and sent an elbow into Colleen's gut, making her cry out and fall to the ground in pain.

“No!” Claire cried out and launched herself at Bakuto, her _tekko-kagi_ held in her hands in an offensive position she knew to catch Bakuto's katana just so- Surprise flitted through her at the same time she saw something similar flicker in Bakuto's eyes as he turned to meet her attack. Her claws had caught his katana in exactly the right defensive position that she had been taught so many times – arms cross at the wrist above her head, trapping the blade at two points.

However, the surprise of the success of such a maneuver was her undoing. Even before she attempted the next move to break the blades by twisting her wrists downward in a lower guard, fiery hot pain exploded across her right shoulder. She screamed, staring in horror at the sudden appearance of a short tanto that was embedded in her shoulder. Her breath came in gasps as she nearly blacked out from the waves of agony that radiated across her body. She could feel herself tremble as she looked from the blade to Bakuto's cold eyes.

“Such ferocity, and is this what Colleen is resorting to sending me when she can't fight her battles? Not even a full trainee?” Bakuto asked.

“P-Please-”

“Bakuto, your fight is with me!” she distantly heard Colleen scream as the blade that had been tangled against her claws was suddenly released and Claire found herself sinking to the ground. She absently grasped the handle of the tanto that was stabbed into her shoulder, shaking as she felt the blood and the shock of what had happened flooding into her.

She was distantly aware of Colleen fighting, but losing badly as Bakuto kicked her again, this time into a window that broke and sent her flying into the hallway. She was distantly aware that a couple of hands were on her as she tried to keep her eyes open. She pawed at the blade, trying to shake her head. “N-No...can't...d-don't take it out-” she thought she said, but it felt thick and heavy on her tongue. Her vision blurred, the thumps and sounds of fighting a roar in her ears. She thought she saw Bakuto flying across the wall as if hit with something extremely powerful and heavy. But she could not tell as the blurs turned into spots of darkness and the last thing she thought she heard or felt was a roar of rage that sounded a lot like Luke's voice.

Then, darkness.

* * *

“Matt,” Foggy's voice preceded the hurried footsteps of his best friend as he rounded the corner he had just come from. Matt briefly nodded to him, but kept his senses focused on the initial scream that he had heard. He could feel both Jessica and Luke's presence hovering near the open door staring at him.

He flinched as he heard the second scream, followed by several quiet popping sounds- “Screams, down on the first floor, entrance-” he started, grimacing as he tried to focus on how many- “-guns, at least several-”

Ah, there it was. He heard the distinctive rasp of metal on light-weight wood, the saya of any Japanese sword. “Swords,” he spat out as he could hear more gunshots followed by screams- “It's got to be The Hand-” He paused, picking up on the faint, distinct, but _deep_ heartbeat that he recognized to be those who had been resurrected by The Hand, those who had _memories_. There was at least one of the deep heartbeats. “One of their leaders, I think,” he muttered. He hoped that it was not Elektra, not after all that had happened, not after Stick, not after-

“How the fuck did they find us here?!” Jessica swore and Matt barely got out of the way as he felt the breeze of her passing him. He heard her muttered apology and could smell the remnants of stale alcohol on her as she pushed past him. Her heartbeat was a furious thud of intent and he was about to reach a hand out to stop her.

“No, wait- Jess!”

The sudden ear-piercing shattering wail of the precinct's alarms made everyone involuntarily duck and wince. Matt clapped his hands over his ears, utterly disoriented by the noise as he tried to pull his own enhanced senses back into himself, to focus deep within, but it was too much. The noise reverberated across his skin, his ears, and his world's vision felt like a nuclear explosion had just lit everything just too bright-

“Matt!” Foggy's voice and sudden grip on one of his hands grounded him.

Matt groped and clung onto Foggy's hand, feeling the solid feel of his friend's fingers on his own, trying to recite what he knew about each bump and feel of Foggy's fingerprints and skin. He felt the familiar dimple on Foggy's index knuckle from too many days of writing out legal arguments before transferring his notes to paper; the crookedness of one of his pinkies from typing too much. Matt had long mapped out Foggy's hands since the days of Columbia, having found a need to do it since the dorm rooms had fire drills each year. Right now, it was a godsend for his senses as he forced himself to focus back into the world, to concentrate and after what seemed like an eternity, he was able to focus past the blaring noise of the alarms.

“I'm okay, Foggy, I'm okay...” Matt muttered as he released his brief death grip on his best friend's hand. “Thanks...”

“Tell that to the others,” Jessica grumbled, and Matt could see that one hand was clapped over an ear as she glared up at the offending speaker. He could sense that she wanted to jump up and rip the speaker in the corner of a wall to pieces.

“Jess, don't,” Luke warned, “we don't need to add destruction of city property to our list of crimes.”

“It's annoying-”

Matt could hear the authoritative voice of Captain Strieber further down the hall calling for someone to shut the damn noise down, trying to hear over the crackle of his radio. “The Captain's calling for the shut down soon,” he said as he focused on the Captain's radio. All that came were cut off screams and shouts of reinforcements. Further down the levels of the precinct, he could hear the rasps of sword on flesh. To him, it sounded like someone was cutting rubber pieces apart with a hacksaw. “We need to get to the others and get them out of here before The Hand come for them,” he said. He did not know how The Hand found that they were here, but he did not doubt that they had resources that even he did not know about.

“Here,” Foggy's hand bumped his own and Matt was reminded of his friend's words spoken just mere moments ago. “Remember-”

“Yeah, got it,” he placed his hand on Foggy's arm just as the alarm died. Matt could still hear the blinking buzz of the emergency lights turning on and off. He gripped the slick, almost wet-like plastic fabric of his friend's satin business suit as he hefted the canvas bag with his Daredevil suit inside it. Foggy was right; he could not, in good conscience, change into Daredevil inside the police precinct, even with The Hand attacking them. Not if he wanted to keep his lives separate or his friends safe.

“We need to get the others out of here,” Luke's voice was tight with strain, “how many do you hear?”

“A lot,” Matt canted his head to listen and shook it a little. He could not tell how many by the sheer amount of guns fired, noise, and even the slicing of blades. “I can't tell. But definitely a lot. More than what we faced at Midland Circle Financial.”

“Shit,” Jessica cursed.

Matt thought fast. “We need to distract them before they can get to our friends and family. Jessica-”

“Way ahead of you, Murdock,” Jessica's tone was clipped, no nonsense and he felt her quicken her pace as Luke followed.

He had to hide his smile as he could guess that Jessica had deduced what was in the canvas bag that Foggy had brought. At the same time, he was touched that she was considering his own situation and the fact that he wished to keep his two lives apart. He had read in her files that she had dabbled in other careers before settling into the life of a private investigator after her first incident with Kilgrave. He still did not know how she had acquired her super-human abilities, but the fact that she had attempted to keep her abilities under wraps told him that she had once thought like him and perhaps still did considering she was not so open about it. But it also told him that Jessica understood the law and why he _needed_ to keep his lives separate. Vigilantes and lawyers were complete opposites of the metaphoric coin.

He and Foggy followed, hurrying as fast as possible in the narrow hallways towards where their friends had been kept. The stutter of Foggy's hitched breath at the same time he picked up on a deep heartbeat made him aware of what was ahead of him as they rounded two corners and down the halls. He smelled the coppery scent of blood along with the rapid thuds of heartbeats and several exhales of breath that he recognized as Claire's and Misty's. Both were injured. And one of the heartbeats was inexplicably stuttering, slowing down. One of them was very injured.

“Hey asshole!” he heard Jessica call out before a meaty punch followed by the woosh of air moving further away told him that both Luke and Jessica had engaged one of the leaders of The Hand that had come for them. It puzzled Matt that only one of their five leaders had come to attack. He would have expected more, unless they were randomly lashing out at various precincts?

Someone screamed, but Matt could _see_ the sounds of Luke and Jessica fighting, driving the others further away. Luke roared and Matt could tell that he was furious about something as he and Foggy hurried into the room where Misty had kept their friends. The source of Luke's anger was evident as Matt picked up immediately on the familiar taste and smell of Claire – and her stuttering heartbeat. She had been severely injured. The others, except for Colleen and Detective Knight, were kneeling beside her. He dropped his hand from Foggy's arm and hurried over to Claire. Trish Walker had her hand on the tanto that was embedded deep into Claire's shoulder while Karen was trying to wake Claire up with unsuccessful slaps of her cheek.

“Matt, Foggy! Thank got you're here-” Karen started, but Matt cut her off gruffly.

“Don't pull the knife out,” he ordered as he reached a hand out and hovered it just over Claire' heart. He could smell something off, but pushed that aside as he sensed how deep the blade went.

“Wait, what, Murdock-”

“Don't pull it out,” he glanced over in the direction where Misty had pushed herself up and staggered to her feet. She sounded winded and he noted that she had an arm held close to her side as she limped over to them. He could hear the grinding of old ships; fractured ribs.

“You pull it out, she's going to bleed too much for us to do anything,” he explained as he concentrated back on Claire. He could hear where the sludgy wash of blood was sloshing against the barrier that was the knife. The sound was sickening, an oozing and congealing noise that sounded like it was mixed with something else. He did not know what caused it.

“Bullshit Murdock, you'd better-”

“Just, trust me,” he waved a hand at her, keeping his voice firm.

“Fuck, fine, whatever,” Detective Knight cursed before gesturing for them, “we gotta get the hell out of here-”

“I hate fucking ninjas!” Jessica's aggravated shout made them all turn in the direction she was fighting in as a gigantic crash of glass and other items was heard. He heard her huffing angry breath as she lashed out, bashing several attackers in the face with what might have been a rather large potted plant.

“Let's go,” he ordered and pointed to the young man Malcolm Ducasse. “Malcolm, you and Trish carry Claire.” He turned to Knight, “Detective Knight which way out?”

He could feel Foggy's heartbeat with rapid worry and fear and knew that he was perilously close to having his world collide with what he was doing, but he would be damned if Claire died on him. She was the first one to have helped him and to be there for him since he took up his Daredevil activities. She was one of the few people, perhaps one of three people that understood _why_ he needed to be Daredevil.

“To your left,” there was something in Knight's voice that told him that she was starting to put two and two together, but Matt could not worry about that at the moment. He needed to get every single person that the four of them cared about out of the police precinct and to safety.

“I'll cover you,” Karen muttered ad the same time the distinct cocking of the hammer of a gun made all of them turn to look at her. Matt could smell the small, but powerfully made metal that Karen had in her hands. It was a very well-built gun and he felt a pull of guilt that not only did Karen know how to use a gun, but she clearly owned one. When she had learned how to use a gun, he did not know. But it also hurt a little that she had not shared that secret with him after the couple of years that they had known each other.

“I do not want to know if that's legal or not, Ms. Page,” Knight's tone spoke the same volumes before she gestured roughly for them to follow her. The Detective gingerly reached down to pick up her own piece and they hurried out of the room.

“Matt,” Foggy hissed and Matt felt his friend's arm slip onto his own and he gripped the slippery fabric once more. “What the hell-”

“Claire is hurt,” he said tightly as he heard the sounds of fighting behind them slowly move away. He could not hear any noticeable sounds of injuries from Jessica or Luke, as they moved towards the alternative exit.

“Yeah, but you're just about ready to cast off the blind man act-”

“Claire _is_ hurt,” he hissed back, making sure that Foggy heard the warning tone in his voice to not push the issue. He heard Foggy's audible swallow of whatever he was about to say before one of his forearm muscles clenched in anger. He ignored Foggy's reaction.

“What the hell are you carrying, Colleen?” Knight spoke up as they made their way through the winding hallways and maze that was the precinct.

Matt canted his ears towards the woman who had claimed that she had defected from The Hand. Matt had never heard her fought, but her movements now spoke of her training, her footsteps sure, her heartbeat almost a whisper. It was not quite like the silence of the heartbeat of those that had been revived time and time again by The Hand or like the ninjas that were part of Nobu's group, but it was close enough that he could tell she had training.

“Something to stop The Hand from ever bothering us again,” Colleen's voice was strained with pain and with whatever she was carrying. The sounds of a door opening followed by echoes told Matt that they had reached one of the stairwells of the precinct.

He could smell the recent splash of blood on Colleen and surmised that her stomach wound had re-opened. He listened to what was in the bag and fought to keep the surprise off of his face. It was definitely something to stop The Hand all right. The question was, what was Colleen going to do about it. He focused his hearing back on Claire; the stutter of her heartbeat worrying him. She was suffering from blood loss, but the amount that she was losing was not enough to induce cardiac arrhythmia.

“Care to share?” Knight asked as they descended the stairs and she pushed open the emergency exit door.

“Not at the moment,” was the woman's reply.

The fresh New York air hit Matt like a truck, driving away the blood that had permeated every single corner of the precinct. He breathed in a lungful, suddenly hungry for the fresh air and trying to get rid of the cloying scent of coppery blood that soaked the building.

“All right, where to now?” Knight asked, her voice trembling with pain as she wheezed a breath.

“Danny's got a few places that I know of where we can hide,” Colleen started as they crossed into the parking lots where a couple of shipping containers and various cars, most of them police cruisers were parked on the one way street.

Matt released his hand from Foggy's arm and sensed his friend shoot a quick look at him. He gave Foggy a brief nod of reassurance and received a squeeze of support in return, the previous anger gone in that brief moment. Matt slowed his steps to fall behind the others. He stretched his senses out and saw that he was able to slip into a narrow alleyway that was in between the buildings to change in relative darkness. Foggy would be able to cover him until they reached wherever Colleen was going to lead them to. He unzipped his bag, pulling out the parts of his suit and noting that Foggy had also brought the old black pads and clothes that had been his original suit along with his billy club and old batons. It seemed Foggy had dumped a majority of the contents of his trunk into the bag itself.

“Claire needs a hospital, Colleen,” Trish spoke up, and Matt sensed that she was staggering under the weight of carrying Claire with Malcolm.

“Metro-General is nearby a couple of blocks northeast-”

“It's too dangerous, The Hand successfully attacked it last time according to Claire and Daredevil-”

_Thump-thump_.

It was the only warning Matt got as he realized that this was not a random attack by The Hand. It had been deliberate. The Hand had truly tracked them here. His senses told him that a lone man with a very deep heartbeat, almost as deep as Alexandra's was waiting for them further down the street, his stance sure and set. Matt had no doubts based on what he heard, smelled, and felt in the vibration of the air currents that this was the same man that had pursued him and Elektra outside during their fight at the Royal Dragon. He was clearly Japanese judging by the words he had asked and Matt knew that he was the only one of the five fingers of The Hand that had come alone to the restaurant, without any support and was a formidable fighter. His brief battle with the mysterious Japanese leader of The Hand told him that the man did not take stock in waiting and if his presence was any indication, a fight had already begun.

And in this case, Matt knew that it was too late to put on the Daredevil suit.

“...Shit...” Detective Knight voiced the group's collective thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

They smelled like the hundreds of thousands of terrified prey Murakami had hunted in his long years. The fact that they had grouped together made him sneer at their cowardice. Two were pointing guns at him and he stared blandly at the barrels. He could hear the sounds of fighting within, Bakuto and his men engaged in the fight against the Unbreakable One and Unyielding Woman. He moved his gaze towards one of the two that was holding a gun on him and recognized her face – Karen Page. Tyler-san's information had been correct. He also noted Bakuto's fallen apprentice Colleen Wing standing behind the blonde-haired woman, carrying a duffel bag along with her katana. However, Wing was hunched over and he saw spots of blood dotting across her stomach. The former Hand apprentice was injured.

Good, it would be easier for him to deal with her once he dealt with Page and the other woman pointing a gun at him. Her stance was far more professional than Page's, but she looked injured, one arm pressed against her side. There were three others that were behind them, one of them in a fighting stance that told him that the fighter had some experience, but the other two were clearly not used to fighting and instead, were hovering over the woman that had been identified by Bakuto earlier as Claire. He had heard and sensed the reaction to Claire's injury and knew that she was someone who was close to the Unbreakable One. He could smell the toxin, lethargy, and the stuttering of her heart as it fought to pump blood, but also push the poison through the woman's veins. He could see that the poison-coated tanto Bakuto had was still embedded deep in the woman's right shoulder. Bakuto had him dip it in the rare poison before they had launched their assault. Murakami wanted to laugh – clearly, someone told the others to not remove the blade. It was the right action, especially judging by how deep it had gone, but it was also the wrong action to take. It only allowed the poison to fester and spread through the woman and accelerated her imminent death.

He felt the air current shift and canted his head a little. It was the unspoken signal for his _shinobi_ to appear. The _gaijin_ Westerners called them ninja, but they were in true essence _shinobi_. Murakami knew that Nobu had preferred to use the Western term, finding that it struck more terror, but he himself called them by their true names. It was seemingly innocuous, which made them all the more dangerous. Most of Nobu's forces had been decimated by the Black Sky and Daredevil, so the ones that had survived and hid away with Gao's forces. No, these _shinobi_ were from Japan and while he knew that there was a landscape disadvantage as they did not know the layout of the streets of New York as well, they would still fight all the same. Many of them were from different parts of Japan, but all had trained in Tokyo and New York City was Tokyo's sister city.

He allowed himself a small smile of pride at their silent approach, sweeping past him and using the shadows to their advantage. He watched as the two holding guns suddenly turn and point their weapons at ten he had brought with him as they emerged from the shadows.

“Shit, he's got fucking ninjas!” the black woman took her hand away from her side as she gripped her gun with both of her hands.

He held up a finger and his _shinobi_ stopped, weapons sheathed but ready to draw. “ _It would have been easier to shoot every last one of you dead, but then there would be nothing to live for and nothing to lose_ ,” he stated in a loud voice towards them. “ _Consider this a courtesy_.”

“Anyone understand what the hell he just said?” the blonde-haired woman, Page, asked. Her voice trembled with fear.

“He's saying he could have shot us dead with the bows and arrows that each Hand member gets training for, but he's considering this a courtesy and favor for keeping us alive for now,” Wing translated. Murakami had almost forgotten that the woman was half-Japanese, half-Chinese. She had features that indicated her parentage was both from Harbin region of China and the Kyushu region of Japan and also understood various dialects of Chinese and Japanese. She dropped the bag she had been carrying and Murakami could hear something heavy thunk to the ground. She drew out her katana, but kept holding her _saya_ instead of tossing it away. It was clear that she was going to use a form of _iaijutsu_ or _battojutsu_.

“Why?” a wiry black man spoke up from where he had been kneeling next to the injured woman.

“We're apparently bait,” Wing's voice was tight with anger and Murakami acknowledged her words with a tilt of his head.

“ _Exactly_ ,” he replied as he drew out his tonfas and activated the sharpened point at the end of the weapon. He had only brought one when he had launched his solo assault on the Royal Dragon and it had been a mistake. He would not make another.

“Shit,” the black woman muttered.

Murakami allowed a predatory smile to appear on his face as he saw the moment when Page and the other woman open fired with their guns. He allowed himself to relax and use the innate power that he had acquired through the many years of life and of the training he had undergone in K'un-L'un and _moved._ The world around him seemingly slowed to the point of his heartbeat. He saw the passage of the bullets that flew slowly towards him.

He easily side-stepped them, just moving an inch or two, nothing more, nothing less, than what was needed. His long years of combat and of stalking his prey told him that there was no need for expending unnecessary energy unless one needed to, because there was always just the moment where such energy was needed, where one just needed that boost of speed to escape or to strike.

Time resumed its normal passage at the sudden shattering of one of the walls of the police station. Murakami watched, almost impassive at the sight of what looked like Bakuto falling with the debris that had flown out from the second floor. His fellow compatriot landed heavily onto the ground. Murakami stared up at the sight of both the Unyielding Woman and the Man With the Unbreakable Skin. The Woman had blood dripping down a side of her face and she looked a little injured. True to the Unbreakable One's name, there was nary a scratch on him as the two jumped from where they had broken the brick wall down onto the ground. But the Unbreakable One's clothing was clearly torn to shreds, bullets and slashes leaving bits and pieces hanging.

“That hurt, Jessica,” Bakuto's voice floated up from the pile of brick and paper fluttering down before he seemingly stood up, wiping absently at a cut on his face. The blood stopped dripping as the cut slowly knitted itself up.

“Fuck, how the fuck can you still get up?”

“Magic,” was the witty reply from his fellow Hand member.

Murakami noted with some concern that there were clear wounds and bullet holes in Bakuto. It seemed that the affable man had not escaped unscathed. But neither did Bakuto seem bothered by his injuries. He suppose that his concern was unwarranted considering what the other man's gifts were. Each one of the Fingers had trained and mastered an art while at K'un-L'un. It was part of their eventual initiation to the priesthood of K'un-L'un. In the priesthood, they were studying to be monks, priests, shamans, warriors, healers, all sorts of things. Each one had to have a focus and the best of them, was the warrior monk that protected them called the Iron Fist. None of them had vied for being Iron Fist, but all of them had vied for being the best of what they had studied. For Bakuto, it was of healing and endurance. For Murakami, speed was of the essence. Gao was perhaps the only one of them who had taken an unusual path – she had studied with the monks and had received some kind of telekinetic power that utilized her chi. Very similar to what the Iron Fist was able to do at times.

“Jess, looks like we've got company,” the Unbreakable One gestured with a chin towards him and his _shinobi_.

“Fuck,” the Unyielding Woman looked pained, “not him again.”

“Fucker dodged bullets,” the black woman had a frown on her face, “like something out of the fucking Matrix.”

“Shit, he didn't show that the first time around,” the Woman frowned as she looked around, “Trish, how's your krav maga?”

“Go get him Jess, I got these ninja bastards,” the woman who had been standing in front of the heavily injured one, the wiry black man, and a portly suited man with a soft face, glared around her.

“ _Kill her first_ ,” Murakami ordered. Guns were not a threat to his _shinobi_.

“Trish, they're coming after you-” Wing started to warn, but Murakami caught the attack that Bakuto launched at his former apprentice and advanced forward, intent on taking out Page first. His _shinobi_ would be able to handle the rest.

He only got a half step forward when he suddenly jerked and raised his arm, blocking a thrown baton before he turned and rolled backwards, arms held up in a defensive block as he rode out the sudden attack from above by a man dressed all in black with a black bandanna tied around his head. Murakami felt a thrill of anticipation in him as he realized that it was Daredevil, but it looked like he had not time to change into his padded and armored outfit of sorts and instead, opted for his old black outfit. He could see the clear stitch marks were Nobu's _kyoketsu-shoge_ had once cut through the man's outfit.

“Daredevil,” he stated in English, coming to a stop with a hand towards the ground, one knee bent.

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen did not say anything as he attacked, one punch and a jab thrown down towards his head to which Murakami blocked with his left tonfa and pushed with his weight to throw him back. He staggered and swung at him with a baton, kicking high and low. Murakami blocked back and forth, twisting and kicking towards his opponent. He was peripherally aware that Bakuto had squared off once again with his former apprentice, the two circling each other as the Woman and Unbreakable One both dealt with his _shinobi_ and their weapons. Surprisingly, the woman named Trish was holding up with her krav maga while the black woman with the gun was trying to shoot those who came too close to her.

He suddenly ducked and rolled into a sucker punch by Daredevil as he felt Page shoot a bullet at him and growled in anger. It was followed by another to his face and Murakami staggered back, wiping blood from his lip. He glared at both Page and Daredevil, the latter of the two with a razor thin smile on his face as he advance forward again. Daredevil's skills were legendary, even among the notes that Nobu had made and Murakami knew that the man must have somehow anticipated the bullet that was shot towards him and coordinated with her.

He smiled grimly. There were two ways he had to do this in order to succeed. Neutralize Page while keeping Daredevil close. And in a way, the fact that the man had no time to put on his regular armor, meant that Murakami had an advantage. He let time slow down a little more and _moved_. A one-two punch combination followed by twisting into the range of the man's punches and he lashed out with the the back of his elbow, scraping a scratch along Daredevil's chest with the pointed end of his tonfa. Daredevil cried out and staggered back, but Murakami shuffled forward, time resuming its normal speed as he kept on driving Daredevil back towards Page and the others.

He tasted a bit of blood at the sudden swift kick that the other man lashed out at him, and twisted to the side, kicking high then low, regaining his lost position. He flipped one of his tonfas on his right hand and gripped the pointed end like a short hook as he managed to hit one of the ends against Daredevil's arms and twisted, pulling inwards towards the other man-

Only to find himself repelled again before he rolled, sensing another _ping_ of Page's bullets trying to find its mark. He gritted his teeth and ran towards Daredevil, keeping him in front of where Page was trying to aim. It seemed that the other man had become wise to his attempts and hastily side stepped, putting some distance between himself, Page, and the battle raging behind them. Murakami ducked behind a car as Page fired again before he peered out and threw his tonfa at her.

It hit her; the pointed end of the tonfa embedded itself into her upper leg. She cried out and dropped her gun as she pulled at the weapon.

“Karen!” Daredevil's voice was desperate and Murakami wasted no time.

He vaulted over the car's hood and ran towards the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and punched furiously at him, rolling with the man's attempt to block his face and arms. He growled, anger and rage filling him at the man's grunts as he attempted to block his blows. He added a little more speed to his blows, feeling the softness of his bones hitting flesh and knew that he was on his way to victory-

The sudden roar of fury that emerged from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's mouth was anything unlike Murakami had heard before. He was used to the roar of beasts who were dying from the wounds inflicted, but this one – it sounded like rage incarnate. Pain exploded across Murakami's chest and he found himself flying backwards, landing heavily on his back as he skidded to a stop. He looked up and barely had time to duck as a fist came crashing down where his head used to be. Murakami added more speed, time seemingly slowing down just a fraction before he ducked under another barely-dodged punch. He knew he had reached his limit as he could barely see another one of Daredevil's punches.

He rolled backwards and up to his feet, his lone tonfa held before him in a defensive manner. His breath came in quick gasps as he watched the Devil of Hell's Kitchen warily. He could taste copper in his mouth and spat out a wad of blood. Daredevil fared about the same, cut in multiple places and clearly bleeding from the corner of his mouth. He also looked out of breath and in some pain from what had to be a previous and recent injury courtesy of the Black Sky when she had retrieved the Iron Fist.

They eyed each other warily, two wounded predators, waiting to see who would make the first move or be the first to look away. The thrill of the hunt excited him, and he relished the chance to use his gifts in such a way that it made up for the anti-climatic killing of the moon bear in the woods of the Shikoku islands. Murakami watched Daredevil's expression suddenly change from grim fury to something that hinted at surprise and wondered what-

The ground suddenly rumbled and Murakami realized what was happening.

He immediately flattened himself to the ground as the shockwave rolled through, sending cars, debris, and things bouncing up and down. The road that they had been fighting on undulated with the violent tremor that shook the area. He could see something in Daredevil's expression turned pained and his hands reach up to clap over his ears, but even Murakami dared not move against his opponent in the earthquake that shook the area.

He glanced up at the snapping of trees and glass, covering his own head at the feel of the glass that rained down upon them. If there was one thing that life had taught him, was that earthquakes, even man made ones were not to be trifled with. And in this case, even though he was glad of the earthquake – as it meant that Gao had started the excavation of the Substance and perhaps had also gotten rid of both the Iron Fist and Black Sky – it could still easily kill any of the Fingers even without the life-giving Substance.

After what seemed like hours, but in reality was a few seconds, the tremors stopped and Murakami uncurled himself from his position. He pushed himself up, trying to gain an advantage over the Devil of Hell's Kitchen-

“NO!”

The screech of denial was so sharp that it made him glance over to see Wing pushing herself up from the side of a car and launched herself at Bakuto; her blade was a furious blur of glinting metal. It was clear what had prompted her screech of denial. The black woman who had held a gun with both of her hands at Murakami earlier was now missing a limb. Bakuto had clearly ridden out the earthquake with his abilities and had attacked both Wing and the woman with the gun while they had been incapacitated by the tremors. But it seemed for naught as with his gift, Murakami was able to see the moment where Bakuto was overpowered by the rage-filled fury of his former apprentice. The affable man was disarmed, just so. Murakami felt a twinge of something he could not identify as Wing prepared to slice one of the fingers of The Hand's head off-

“No! Colleen, stop!” Daredevil shouted and the blade hovered just inches away from Bakuto's neck.

“Give me one good reason why,” Wing stated in a dangerously quiet voice.

“The police are on their way and _we need answers_ ,” Daredevil stressed.

Daredevil was correct and Murakami could hear the distant sirens grow closer. It was more than likely in response to the police precinct under attack than anything else, but with the earthquake, it would stretch the police out thin. Murakami saw the other man look at him and could sense that even his _shinobi_ , at least four of the six that had stayed conscious thus far eye their current opponents warily. A majority of them sported bruises from the woman Trish who knew krav maga, but had been finished off by both the Unbreakable One and the Unyielding Woman. The six that had fallen, had put up a decent fight judging by the wounds he could see, and thus had fulfilled their purpose in keeping the others distracted. He wished that they had succeeded in killing them, but he would settle for injuries for now.

It was time to leave and regroup; especially with Bakuto at the mercy of Wing.

“ _Let's go_ ,” he called out to his _shinobi_ and they obeyed, running swiftly into the shadows just as he applied the last of his speed and hurried away. He would not call his assault a failure nor a victory. Bakuto was captured, but not killed, so it would be some consolation. Gao had begun the harvest. But Murakami also knew that when a predator was outnumbered by the prey who had turned to the herd for protection, it was time to rethink a new approach. After all, what he wanted the most now was to hunt and kill Daredevil.

The rest of the world could burn for all he cared.

* * *

Matt forced himself to relax just a hair as he heard the distinct _thump-thump_ of the Japanese man's heart beat fade away. He did not fully relax in case it was another feint or attempt to make him lower his guard. He waited a few more minutes to be sure that The Hand and ninjas had left. After those minutes were up he turned and hurried over to Karen who sat on the ground, clutching the shaft of the tonfa that had been thrown at her.

“M-Matt,” her voice wavered and he sensed and smelled the blood dripping down her thigh.

“You're going to be all right, Karen,” he tried to reassure her as he hovered his hand over the injury. He could taste the congeal of blood, the rubbing of muscle against the wound. It sounded like a rubber band ball going over a balloon. “It's pretty shallow and I know it hurts-”

Karen huffed a pained sarcastic laugh, “Yeah, no s-shit...”

“Karen,” Matt licked his lips, “Karen, I need to pull it out, all right-”

“Oh God-”

“It's a shallow puncture wound, you can't move while it's still in there and if I move you, it'll make it worse. We need to get it out before it can do anymore damage to your leg-”

“Hey, M-er, Daredevil!” Luke's booming voice made him look up and he made out the sense of Luke gesturing towards him. “We need to get Misty to a hospital quick, she's bleeding out too fast for me to do anything!”

Karen made a noise that sounded like she was trying to be brave as he turned back to her. Matt sensed her nod, the acrid taste of sweat and fear filling the air. It overpowered the metallic smell of gunpowder that surrounded her. She was trying hard to put on a brave face in light of the pain she was clearly feeling and Matt gripped the shaft of the tonfa tight.

“Ready?” he muttered.

“Yeah- no wait!” she quickly ripped a part of her pencil skirt to make a makeshift bandage and tourniquet before nodding again.

Matt pulled, ignoring the loud squelching sound he heard as the weapon came free of Karen's thigh. He heard the muffled grunt of pain from Karen as she quickly bounded her leg. The blood pooled quickly, soaking through the layers of cloth and Matt could sense her heart beating faster at what was clearly the sight of her own blood seemingly unable to stop.

“Wait here,” he held up a gloved hand at her, “don't move, okay? The blood's not stopping at the moment, but it'll stop soon.”

“O-Okay...” Karen whispered.

“Hey Daredevil-”

Matt stood up, gripping the tonfa tight in his hand. He hurried over to where Luke was trying hard to tighten the tourniquet he had made from whatever was left of his hoodie around Misty's arm. He resisted the urge to lift his arm across his face at the pungent scent of blood. He could clearly hear the too-fast flutter of Detective Knight's heart beat and the sloshing sound of her heart trying to compensate for the loss of the limb. “Who knows how to drive,” he asked.

“I do,” Trish Walker spoke up behind him. She was swaying on her feet and Matt had a feeling that it was not from her effort at fighting off the ninjas. He nodded once at her before flipping the tonfa over in his hand and used the sharp end to shatter the glass window on a nearby van. He could sense the spare key on top of the visor and dropped them onto his hands before tossing them at Trish. She caught it with a small one-two slip of her hands before straightening. It was clear that this was her first time she had been exposed to this much blood.

“Luke-” Matt did not need to continue as Luke interrupted him.

“On it,” Luke gingerly hefted the Detective to her feet. Misty moaned and her head lolled on her neck, her eyes rolling around almost incomprehensibly.

Matt hissed quietly; her heart was definitely too fluttery. He could smell the touch of death that was coming to claim her and hoped that they were not too late. “Jessica,” he turned to the private investigator, “Claire-”

“Yeah, got it. But what about this fucker?” Jessica pointed a thumb at Bakuto who stood kneeling in what appeared to be a meditative position. Colleen was holding her blade right at the edge of the man's throat.

“Colleen and I will wait for the authorities to show up while the rest of you get to Metro-General. It's the closest to the precinct and just four blocks northeast of here,” he stated, making sure that his tone brook for no room for argument.

He sensed Jessica raising an eyebrow at him before nodding once. He did not know what she thought about his tone, but it seemed like she was not going to protest his order.

“The black's better, definitely more slimming to your physique, but you still look like a dick,” she said as she moved away, “Malcolm!”

Matt appreciated the bit of levity from her about his costume, but it died just as quickly as he saw Foggy and Malcolm approach with Claire between them. She seemed awake, but Matt could sense the clear signs of pain and delirium in her. He still was puzzled by the oozing and concealing sound that was her blood mixing with something else. However, just as Foggy dipped his shoulder to let Jessica take most of Claire's weight, her sudden soft cry of pain was like a knife through his own eyes.

He realized what about Claire's wound was bothering him.

He smelled it.

Poison.

And not just any type of poison. One he was intimately familiar with. It was the same poison that Nobu's ninjas had their blades coated in when they had attacked him and Elektra when they had first investigated Midland Circle. “Jess, Malcolm, when you get to the hospital, tell the staff that Claire's been poisoned. They need to neutralize the acid in it by using a mix of baking soda and lighter fluid.”

“Wait, what?”

“The blade's been poisoned,” Matt resisted the urge to pull out the blade, but held up his hand to stop Jessica from doing the same, “we can't pull it out. It's the only thing keeping her alive from bleeding to death-”

“Yeah, but it's got _poison_ -” Jessica started.

They both jumped as Claire started to moan, the pain of both the blade and the poison working its way deep into her system too much for her body to handle.

“Holy shit, it's making her veins turn some hideous color! Do you fucking see this?!”

“I know, I know,” Matt tried to keep the desperation out of his voice at the fact that Claire was suffering in the same exactly way Elektra had. “Just go! Go!”

“Fuck, fine,” Jessica waved Malcolm away as she suddenly lifted Claire into a bridal carry. Malcolm raced ahead and opened the back of the doors to let Jessica put Claire into the back while Luke had loaded Detective Knight from the side.

“Hey, you'll be there, right?” Foggy asked as Matt turned to sense his friend helping Karen limp towards the van.

“Yeah, I will,” he said and could feel Foggy hesitate, wondering if it was another broken promise. “I will, Foggy,” he reiterated before adding, “what are families for?”

That seemed to appease Foggy who nodded and hurried along with Karen. They were the last to get onto the van before Trish drove away, the squeal of tires loud and harsh against the rest of the noise that had been generated in the aftermath of the second earthquake. He forced himself to focus his senses and walked over to where Colleen was still holding Bakuto at katana point. With the adrenaline fading from him, he could feel his own injuries, aches, and pains coming to the forefront. He had some shallow cuts from where the Japanese man's tonfas had managed to score their hits. Luckily, he could not smell the same poison on his shallow wounds unlike the one that Claire had which meant that the poison had been selectively placed on the blades.

“Stick had the right idea, Daredevil,” Matt caught the moment she nearly stumbled on his name. “Cutting the heads off of those who serve The Hand ensures that they can't be resurrected again.”

“And you know this because I taught you this,” the man that they knew as Bakuto smiled congenially. “Now you share the secrets of our organization in a pitiful bid to find acceptance among the enemies of The Hand.”

“Colleen,” Matt placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, feeling the tensing of her muscles. It sounded like too taut strings of rubber pulled tightly. That one just had to run a gentle current through it and it would sing with power and the stealth of one taught by The Hand.

“You do know that the second earthquake means that we have either succeeded in our goal or that your precious Iron Fist is dead,” Bakuto spoke up and Matt tightened his grip on Colleen's shoulder. She raged under his hand and the muscles sung with a tightly wounded band of noise that sounded sour.

“Danny would not fall that easily,” he said, directing his words to Bakuto, “he might be naïve, headstrong, and prone to thinking before he leaps, but he is the Immortal Iron Fist. He would not have received his powers if K'un-L'un did not deem him worthy,” he said as he lifted his hand off of Colleen's shoulder. He could sense Bakuto listening to his words, waiting to tear into them again. There was the moment which he felt Bakuto closed his eyes to prepare his counterargument-

Matt slugged him hard in face, leading with his first two knuckles, into the man's cheek and Bakuto fell unconscious. He pulled his fist back, and shook it out. The sensation of pins and needles lingered on his hand. But he felt Colleen's surprise and relief.

“...Thanks...” she murmured and he patted her on the shoulder.

“Keep watch, I need to change,” he said and left her with the unconscious Bakuto.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the episode where Elektra gets poisoned - we know at least one of the ingredients in neutralizing the acid of the poison is baking soda. I'm guessing that it's lighter fluid that Stick uses based on what the bottle he squeezes for liquid purposes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been away since Sept. 2017 - but definitely now inspired by Daredevil Season 3. I did not watch any of the other Netflix series in the interim since "Defenders."

The scent of anti-septic and cleaning fluids was acrid and seemingly burned every breath he took. Matt hated hospitals and wanted to spend as little time as possible in them. When he had first woken up after the accident that claimed his eyes, he thought that he had lost his sense of smell, the chemicals and bleaching agents that sterilized the place overpowering his neophyte sensitive senses. It was why after ensuring that Claire, Karen, Detective Knight and the others were taken care of, he made his way up the stairs to the rooftop of the hospital and stayed there.

His assurance that the others were all right mostly consisted of entering through one of the wings undergoing another renovation and listening in to his friends' heartbeats as well as the activity and vibrations of voices that were performing the surgery or helping stitch up the wounds. He was surprised that his friends were admitted to a rather emptied ICU, but found out that it was the administrator's doing. Her name was Shirley Benson and she was Claire's boss before Claire quit her job at Metro-General.

There had been something akin to regret in Benson's voice, almost motherly at the same time. Matt did not know why Benson had such a tone, but he silently surmised – and would not complain – that perhaps guilt drove Benson to move many of the ICU patients into a different ICU wing and leave this one to Claire's friends and those injured. Whatever the reason, it made Matt's life easier by not concentrating as hard to listen to their heartbeats among the throng of patients. It also ensured that if and when the Hand were to attack again, many other innocent lives would not be caught up in the ensuing bloodshed.

Matt was not naive enough to think that the Hand would not attack Metro-General nor not prepare for another one. The attack on the precinct was a clear sign that the Hand considered them legitimate threats and – he begrudgingly admitted, Stick's reasoning – their loved ones, threads that tied them together, a threat. But for all of Stick's words about cutting threads loose, to cast his friends out from his lives, Matt stubbornly clung on to those threads. He could not cast them out – he would not.

He took another deep breath, breathing in the stale, sour, but familiar scent of New York's pollution and let it out slowly. The acrid burn of antiseptic was slowly being removed from his lungs with each breath he took. The cold of the fall air was helping too, giving a faint crisp scent that smelled like a mix of rubber, bitter pavement, and the faint waft of sugared-cinnamon. That particular scent was probably courtesy of the bakery two blocks away, a known bakery that sold lots of fall-related treats along with sickly sweet things. Matt wanted to think in some ironic fashion that it was why Metro-General was so busy when not patching up gangster related shootings – it was dealing with those who were tempted and ate too much of the bakery's sweets.

A gentle wind ruffled the lapels and of his blazer and he steeled himself against the cold – having worn only the trousers, NYPD tee-shirt, and blazer jacket he woke up in before the precinct had been attacked. After he and Colleen ensured that Bakuto was in police custody, they were taken to Metro General by one of the cops, ostensibly for Colleen's re-opened stomach wound. The bag that Colleen had been carrying was nowhere in sight, but Matt was well aware of both its contents and its current location. He accompanied Colleen as her lawyer, but he could tell the cops were highly suspicious of why he was sporting odd looking bruises and cuts on his face and hands. A quick smile and an affable explanation of attempting to defend his clients along with running away from the attack deflected some of the suspicion.

However, Matt knew Foggy's warning was very close to coming true. He heard Detective Knight putting two-and-two together while they were trying to get Claire to safety, but at the moment the Detective was unconscious and undergoing surgery, so he did not have to worry about her voicing her suspicions. The others, Jessica's friends, he was not so sure. Trish Walker was a well-known radio personality in New York, and her journalistic and investigative sense rivaled Karen's. But, she was also Jessica's adopted sister and as far as he knew, Trish did not speak of Jessica's powers or unique abilities to the public. Malcolm Ducasse was probably someone close to Jessica, and Matt sensed something that was tinged with some regret regarding the young man, but neither did he know about Ducasse's ability to keep quiet.

He did not need to worry about Colleen and his secret dual-identity – she was Hand-trained and understood what it meant to keep loved ones away from danger. She understood the Hand's methods, understood that they needed to be stopped at all costs because if one was left alive, then their loved ones would be in danger once more. It was why when he listened in on his friends in the ICU, he only stopped in once – and it was to Karen's room. He found Foggy sitting on one of the chairs in the room and deliberately dropped the gym bag with his suits in the room, making good on the promise to Foggy that he wasn't going to abandon them – that he valued them.

Foggy only nodded once, understanding his meaning before resuming his watch over Karen who was sleeping off the wound she received from the Japanese man's tanto. He then made his way up to the roof, an attempt to clear his head and also ensure that he could stretch his senses out for any incoming Hand attack. He canted his head towards the lower levels of the hospital and heard the steady faint breathing of Luke by Claire's bedside. They managed to siphon the poison out by the time he and Colleen had arrived and Matt felt both guilty and relieved that he was not there to hear Claire's screams when that had happened.

He surmised that he was probably worse than what Elektra went through, especially since the doctors both had to siphon the poison out and stop Claire from bleeding. Her surgery had just finished and she was in the process of being wheeled out from the OR to ICU when he left Foggy and Karen. Currently, Claire's heartbeat was faint, but somewhat steady. Her heartbeat was hard to hear against the harsh rush of the breathing tube that had been inserted into her chest cavity, so Matt had focused on Luke's steady heartbeat instead to assure himself that Claire was going to live. He knew that she was far from out of the woods yet, the trauma of the blade and poison so close to her heart, but for now, Matt allowed himself a moment to think that she would survive. He could not lose Claire, not when she meant so much to him, to Luke, even to the others. She bound all of them together, the shared knowledge of what they could do, what they were, she had found all of them at their weakest and her strength in holding them together was what initially kept them from tearing each other apart.

Satisfied with Luke's steady and relaxed heartbeat, he tuned his focus to Detective Knight, listening to the steady heartbeats of those who were performing surgery on her arm to save her life. He could hear Jessica's familiar heartbeat nearby and surmised that Malcolm and Trish were probably near her, watching the surgeons work. At least someone was keeping an eye on the headstrong detective. If the detective survived, there would be a lot of questions, but Matt would cross that bridge then. He frowned as he heard the faint uptick in two of the three heartbeats, and for a second thought that something happened to Knight, but the fact that the third heartbeat stayed steady soothed that worry. Perhaps it was Jessica telling something to Trish and Malcolm, but he could not figure out what unless he focused deeper.

He was about to when he heard Foggy's familiar footsteps coming up the stairwell and the door opened. He nodded once towards his friend's direction and got the impression of Foggy nodding back. There was a small sense of palpable relief that Matt smelled from his friend as he approached, mingled with stale cologne, sweat, and the faint odor of coppery blood. The blood was definitely not Foggy's, but probably from Karen or someone else. He was carrying half-cups of liquid and it smelled rather acidic, but familiar – coffee.

“Foggy,” he greeted as he turned to focus his senses elsewhere. He got the brief impression that there was no sign of the Hand – not even the whispers of their breath and silent heartbeat.

“Thought I find you up here,” Foggy thrust one of the cups out and Matt plucked it with uncanny precision from his friend's hand. The small impressed snort from Foggy, that would have barely wafted in the air and be unheard by anyone else, sounded loud in Matt's ears.

“Isn't it dangerous? You know-”

“No one else is up here,” he shrugged as he sipped the coffee. It tasted like shit, even by hospital commissary standards, but the warmth of the liquid was a godsend considering he was feeling rather dehydrated and tired.

“Yeah, but cameras-”

“No cameras at least where we are,” he could not hear any small buzz of electronics in the back of his throat, an indicator that there were cameras, microphones, or anything that could pick up his identity in anyway.

“Now you're showing off again,” Foggy groused and the faint slurping, scratching sound told him that Foggy rolled his eyes. “I'm rolling my eyes- wait, you can see that.”

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied, pausing for a second before hastily adding, “but thanks.”

His friend made a non-committal noise that he couldn't quite tell whether it was agreement or disagreement. “Years of habits, hard to break,” Foggy murmured, sipping his own coffee. He held his breath for a second before letting it out, “Seems like it's easy for you to break that habit, though.”

Matt frowned. He knew exactly what Foggy was referencing. “Claire-”

“Yeah, I get it,” Foggy shook his head. “But that doesn't make you decide what happens to the rest of us; to me, to Karen? Geez, Matt, for someone who really wants to keep us safe from harm, you're kind of doing a piss poor job right now.”

“I walked out of the precinct as Matt Murdock,” Matt childishly pointed out.

“Thank God for small mercies,” Foggy replied sarcastically. He took a long gulp of his coffee and Matt followed suit. “So...what's the game plan for the others?”

“What?”

“Patsy-er, Trish Walker, the kid Malcolm, even Detective Knight if she survives-”

“She's in surgery right now and the prognosis is looking good,” Matt canted his head a little, focusing on the surgeons and heard their steady heartbeats. Even Jessica seemed calm as did the aforementioned Trish and Malcolm.

Foggy nodded, his breath shuddering a little. “Good...good,” he seemed scared.

“Foggy?”

“I don't know if you were close enough to sense it, see it, whatever you do with your spooky abilities, but that guy, the Latino-looking dude, man,” Foggy huffed and ran a hand through his mangled, slightly still slick-backed hair, “he ripped through the detective's arm like it was paper. If Colleen didn't-”

“Yeah...”

“Matt, these guys...they really attacked the hospital that night, didn't they?”

“Yeah,” Matt refused to feel the twinge of guilt and remorse that he did not visit Foggy in the hospital after he was shot up in the courthouse attack that had been designed to pin the blame on Frank Castle. In ways, he was glad he did not visit as perhaps The Hand might have associated Foggy with him and attacked his friend too during that horrifying night. He was lucky Claire was the only one he had to save.

Foggy's lips thinned and Matt _saw_ his friend wrap his arms around himself, suppressing a stutter of fear that shook through him. He wanted to say something flippant, wanted to reassure his best friend that everything would be fine, but the words were stuck in his mouth. He could not, would not – not after what just happened. The Hand _attacked_ them. Attacked what should have been one of the safest places in all of New York City, a police station.

The silence stretched between them for a few minutes before Foggy exhaled and coughed out a bitter-sounding laugh. “Here I believed Karen when she dismissed it after I found her by that warehouse in the aftermath of the hostage situation, you know, after that day-”

“Karen...is...” Matt trailed off for a second, unsure about his feelings for her. Since he told her he was going back to being Daredevil, she sounded like someone who wanted to keep him on track, to help him through his 'addiction', but to him, it sounded like someone who was in denial. Added to the fact that she carried a very well-made, powerful handgun without him ever knowing about it since he met her – it hurt. It hurt him in a way that he could not describe. “She's...very good at compartmentalizing things...” That was the best way he could describe her now, after her words, after her actions.

“Must be her inner journalist,” Foggy tried for some humor, but it fell flat between them.

“Yeah,” Matt tried to acknowledge as the silence stretched between them again.

“So...”

“They're real,” he nodded, finishing the rest of his coffee. Before the attack on the precinct he would have kept Foggy in the dark, like the others had, but now, after what happened to Claire, to Karen, he, could not in good conscience, keep Foggy in the dark. Not after what Foggy brought for him from his apartment.

“What are you and the others going to do about it?”

“Not sure yet,” Matt murmured. He had a few ideas, and it mostly involved Colleen's mysterious bag.

“Bullshit,” Foggy's voice cut through his thoughts and he glanced sharply at him. He raised an eyebrow at his friend's words. “I know you Matt Murdock and I know you've already got a plan.”

“Rescue Danny Rand and bring down the Hand,” he smiled a little crookedly, happy that Foggy still knew him so well.

“Yeah, well, one of them involves the suit, the other-”

The whisper of fabric and the quiet exhale of _her_ familiar breath was the only warning Matt got- “ _Foggy-!_ ”

“Hello Matthew.” The purr of his name on her lips still made his skin prickle with an emotion he wished he did not have to identify but knew it was from a very primal place. It was an effort for him to not react to her words and instead, forced himself to focus as she wrapped her arms tight around Foggy, holding him hostage from behind with one of her sais drawn and pointed at his jugular.

Her steps had been so quiet, almost effortless to the point where he did not hear her coming. He heard the rasp and whisper of the several times folded cotton of fabric she wore on her forearms, the clink of molded carbon-fiber body armor, grating against one another in a hollow, but strong sound. There was the faint floral aroma around her, but it was tinged with the saturation of sour metal – blood. Recently spilled, judging by the freshness of the scent.

Foggy choked, trying to keep both his breath and heartbeat under control, but Matt inwardly winced at the furious thumping sounds it made – it sounded like a jackhammer in his ears. He pulled his focus back to Elektra, tamping down on the fear that pulsed through him. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, each one cursing the fact that he left his armor and weapons downstairs, that he should have immediately gone to Midland Circle Financial after securing Bakuto, that Elektra knew about this place and probably knew where to find them, because Stick- Oh God, Stick...

He swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly dry with fear and anguish. “Elektra,” he managed to force out.

“Good, now that I have your attention-”

“Let him go, Elektra,” Matt held out a hand, wanting nothing more than to reach out to rip Foggy away from Elektra's grip, but lowered it slightly as he sensed the solidness of the sai pointed at Foggy's throat move a little closer in warning. “...Elektra-”

“Telling me to let him go isn't going to work, Matthew,” her tone was simple and to the point.

Matt opened and closed his mouth for a second, feeling utterly helpless as he realized she was quite correct. She did not hesitate to plunge the blade into Stick's prone body, killing him. Matt suspected, she waited until he arrived so that he could _see_ her do the deed. It made him want to throw up a little in the back of his throat. He could not believe that she was so ruthless, that the Black Sky had completely taken over the Elektra he once knew. He gritted his teeth. He _refused_ to believe that.

“What do you want,” he finally asked, his voice flat and angry.

“You,” her tone was far from the honeyed purr he distinctly and uncomfortably remembered, but it still surprised him.

“Come again?”

“I need your help-”

“Oh no, you don't-”

“-Get to come back from the dead, and demand help, blah, blah, blah, whatever,” Elektra overrode his words with a dismissive air and for a second, Matt could feel her grip loosen on her sai, but even before he could move a single step or raise a single finger, she tightened her grip again and the rasp of Foggy's skin against the cool metal of the sai stopped him. “I heard the speech before, Matthew. It was nice, snappy even. Very like you.”

Matt was unnerved at how much Elektra sounded like her self, like his _Elektra_ before he realized that aside from her steady unnaturally deep heartbeat, her voice, her actions, were all Elektra.

“You...remember,” he tried to swallow, but no moisture went down his throat.

He felt the faint pull of her skin against the corner of her lip, the same dangerously-edged smile that he once loved. Maybe...maybe there was hope. He clung onto that small thought, cradling it with such care that he knew it could be easily extinguished just as fast as Elektra's life was when Nobu killed her with her own sais.

“So,” she suddenly fought against a tremor of fear that gripped Foggy and Matt hesitated, lifting a hand up in a futile effort as he felt the air around her solidify once more. She regained control of Foggy after his twitching movement.

“Elektra, please-”

“Matthew, don't beg. It's rather unbecoming of you-”

“I'm asking you, don't- Don't hurt-”

“Just say yes, and I won't-”

“Matt don't-”

Matt's heart stuttered painfully for a second as he thought he lost Foggy; the distinct fresh sharp scent of blood filling the air. But that moment passed as the odor wafted gently high into the air, leaving a small faint trail. The faint trail was drowned by the other smells in the air of acid and plastic. However, Foggy had quieted, his attempt to talk nicking a small cut in his own skin from the sharpened points of her sai. Matt knew he was losing ground, fast. He could not let Elektra gain the upper hand.

“Well, Matthew?” she asked, moving the point of her weapon ever so closer. He could hear the small rush of the coppery blood from the cut nicked against Foggy's neck hitting the finest point of the weapon.

He was so concentrated on where the weapon was that he almost missed the moment where the sharp smell of acid became overpowering. But he did not miss the moment where the hot cup of coffee that was clutched in Foggy's free hand came up and splashed across both himself and Elektra.

Matt took the opportunity given to him and _moved_.

The air became tinged with blood again, but it was shallow, a thin line drawn. He slammed his body against Elektra's just as Foggy desperately pulled himself away from her grip. The three of them collided, Matt's fingers dancing across the rough fabric and bumps of armor, cloth. He flicked his wrist immediately downward, deflecting one of the sais coming up to stab him to get to Foggy. The cloying scent of acid, too burnt coffee was suddenly lessened by a hair as Foggy stumbled away. The air was a staccato of sharp breaths and flicks of blood, but Matt concentrated and twisted, using all of his brief momentum to slam Elektra into the nearby wall.

He immediately pushed himself against her, pinning her with his own arms and legs splayed out. He hooked one of his ankles against her own to stop her from kicking free, wrapping an arm around one of her sais, ignoring how one of the prongs bit into his own hip. He could feel the brief wetness of blood, but it was shallow and the pain was superficial. His other hand stretched along hers, his hand gripping her wrist in a lock preventing her from flipping her sai in any way to gain leverage or for him to receive a stab in his back from it.

“Foggy, run!” Matt shouted as he could feel Elektra's face right next to his own. He smelled the damp coolness of the brick wall, could almost taste the bitter clay. It was mingled by the heady and familiar scent that he always associated with Elektra. He could not describe her, but he knew that it _was_ Elektra.

“Matthew, if you just wanted rough sex-”

The vibrations of her voice were low and pitched, and this close to her, he could feel her lips just barely ghosting over his own. He smelled the scent of the stale acid coffee that Foggy had succeeded in throwing into her face mingled with her own, the scent of the fresh blood she recently drawn an intoxicating mixture. A very primal part of him yearned to taste it off of her face, especially after her words. He immediately shut that train of thought down.

“Shut up,” he growled out as he heard the fearful staccato of Foggy's footsteps run away, rounding the corner before the door slammed open and close. They descended down the stairs and Matt knew Foggy was more than likely trying to find the others. It was safe enough now.

He immediately pushed himself off of her, dancing two steps back away from her sais which immediately tried to slash at him and held himself in a loose stance. He focused on her warily as she lingered against the wall. He knew she was smiling, judging by how the air curled around her lips and the way her breath was sucked into her teeth.

“Matthew, Matthew, Matthew,” she called out languidly as she ran a gloved finger down her face, wiping dry the splash of coffee. She sucked it dry and Matt frowned. “Who knew that little old Franklin Nelson actually had a bit of fight in him. I underestimated him.”

“What the hell do you want, Elektra?!”

“Well,” gone was the seductive purr of her voice and was replaced by the frank bored tone that Matthew was so familiar with. “I was going to kill him, but I'm impressed, so I don't think I'm going to kill him...for now. I want to see what other little tricks he has up his sleeve when he's in mortal peril.”

Matt's lips curled in distaste. “You're insane.”

“No, I'm just a woman who knows what I want. Like I said before: I. Want. You.”

Her last word was with a sai pointed at him, but Matt refused to flinch at the bluff. He could hear the rustle of fabric across her skin and knew that she was not going to throw it.

“If you think I'm going to go willingly with you-”

“Matthew, you know you will,” she stared at him like he was a simpleton. She twirled the sai, its solid blade singing a mournful note in the air. It stopped suddenly as she sheathed it and opened her arms, indicating she was now defenseless.

“You will, because you're going to help me destroy The Hand.”

* * *

The blood sprayed onto the wall was rather artful in a unique way, but Murakami did not quite appreciate the fact that it was sprayed onto _his_ wall. The source of the blood was the body of Tyler-san. She laid near her terminal, eyes open and unseeing. There was no indication that she was surprised, which meant she knew her attacker and foolishly let her guard down.

He cursed her _gaijin_ ancestors for their stupidity in producing such a woman of such inferiority to be ambushed in such a way. This was a woman who never learned that one's guard was never down and kept up, even in familiar company. How did his fallen apprentice think to bring someone like her into their fold was beyond him. Nobu let sentiment and idiocy rule his heart and his mind, losing the will of a predator and becoming prey. He once respected his apprentice, but since Nobu's second death and Murakami's discovery of what led to it, his respect had all but disappeared. His former apprentice was not deserving of the hundreds and thousands of years of life he had given him in the end, not deserving of the wisdom and eventual ascension.

He looked away from Tyler-san's body and towards the terminal that she was using. It was still on and it indicated a location of the cellphones that had initially led them to ambush the precinct. This time, Karen Page and Colleen Wing's cellphones were at the nearby hospital. This was nothing new, as Murakami suspected that Daredevil and his cohorts needed to tend to their comrades' injuries. So then why would Tyler-san have been watching them? And have been killed for it?

He turned to study the artful spray on the wall. The pattern was slight; a small fan instead of a large one. It indicated that the weapon used was thin, a blade of sorts. But Murakami was familiar with the way a samurai sword or tanto would spray the blood. This was thicker, but still thin at the same time. He stepped away from Tyler-san's body and studied the wall closely. He reached out with a finger and ran it against the blood, absently licking it, letting the bitter taste melt and mingle with his own saliva. He knew what weapon created it.

A sai.

Murakami flicked his phone on and dialed a familiar number.

“Yes?”

“ _You let her go_ ,” he stated.

“Of course. The Black Sky is now a lone predator without any protection.”

“ _What better way than to have two predators hunt each other_.”

“I do hope you are not implying what I think you are, Murakami-san.”

“ _Your honeyed words do no you no credit, Gao._ ”

“But she is now alone. And away from the Substance.”

“ _Does she know?_ ”

“No. She went of her own free will.”

“ _And the Iron Fist?_ ”

“Subdued. Not dead. The Black Sky made a good point that we may need use of his powers once we have finished mining the Substance here.”

“ _It is dangerous keeping the Fist alive._ ”

“It is, but we now control him. You know where his loved ones are. I am sure an application of suitable pressure may be applied to ensure his cooperation.”

“ _I will not go after Bakuto's kill_.”

“At least you have some shred of honor left,” Gao conceded and Murakami snorted quietly. On this he was glad to have a fellow Hand member who agreed with him. They were just animals if there was no honor left in certain practices.

“ _She is alone_.”

“She is.”

“ _She will not steal my kill of Daredevil._ ”

“Then I believe you know what must be done.”

Murakami ended the call as he stared at the artful spray once more. He already knew where Daredevil was located. It would be easy for him to ambush the man there when his loved ones were already in mortal peril. But at the same time, he knew that with the Black Sky's history with Daredevil, she would become a hindrance and more than likely turn against him. But, there was a benefit. He never liked Black Sky, for all of Alexandra's vaunted talks of how powerful she was and so forth. She was a wild animal, one that needed to be put down. She was powerful, she was a master of any weaponry that she took up, but she was not them – not The Hand. She was their weapon and when weapons became useless, they were retired.

He would have to rid himself of her before he could stalk his ultimate prey. And if he fought both of them at once... Murakami could feel his blood sing at the thought – it would be a glorious fight indeed.

 


End file.
